Zeymah Sos
by Mejial
Summary: In a land divided by difference, where the throne sits empty with many plotting to take it for themselves, only blood is understood here. Destiny plays a role in these times, but only for resolution, the real story is found in the journey. So begins the destined tale of The Dragons Return, but its not their story. This story is about The One They Fear...
1. Prologue

_Authors Notes:_

_This will be my 2nd official Fanfiction and I'm hitting it into the big leagues. This will be a Skyrim fanfic and most likely be one unlike any other before it. It took two of the finest creative minds this far north of the Jerall Mountains to craft such a piece such as this._

_This Fanfiction will include detail from mods (all will be lore-friendly) and good old fashion imaginative creativity. I will give credit to the creators of said mods and where to find them._

_Now to the story._

_**I Don't Own Skyrim.**_

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PROLOGUE

Blank, that's the best way to describe the start of a story, but blank in this case was the state of mind I was currently in. I couldn't seem to recall anything at the moment, I had no grip on reality around me and I had no clue why and how, until I felt the pain.

Pain always seems to be my closest admirer and reminder of my past and current affairs. The pain I felt was from a blow I took to the head from the hilt-end of an Imperial rider's sword.

Hooves clicking…

I hear the hooves of horses clicking.

I hear the snorts of a horses breathing.

I hear the creaking of wooden planks.

I start to piece it together just as my first bit sight returns, blurry and blinded by sunlight. Then my eyes adjusted.

I was in a wagon; but I wasn't alone, I looked around to find I share this wagon with three strangers; who appeared to be bound.

I regained feeling just in time to realize I too shared the wrist attire.

I carefully gazed over to the wagon driver to find an Imperial soldier holding the reins and in this case in more ways than one. Reclaiming all my senses and cognitive thought, I knew I had to play this carefully or I might find myself at a loss of more than movement of my hands.

Keeping my head down I began to access the situation and the cards are not in my favor. Outnumbered, unarmed and bound I had no chance of escape, but hope is not lost yet.

I look to my companions on board the carriage to see if I can gain any information.

Directly in front of me, sat a Nord; no older than 25, dressed in leather armor with blue and bear decorative, from my understanding of Skyrim; the Bear was Windhelms emblem and the civil war the land was currently in told me that he is a native soldier in the war.

To my immediate right, sat a grizzled Nord; at least 50 years by my guess, dressed differently from the Nord before me. His armor bore the similar bear decorative, but this seemed more something a general would wear. The most interesting part about him seemed to be that he was gagged.

Finally, in front of the gagged man; sat an irritable fellow; dressed in rags, must be another passenger of Sheogorath's prank pony rides. He's not a Nord though, Breton by his scent; and here I thought I was the odd one out.

Realizing that I was conscious, the Nord in front of me easily gained my attention.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." Called the Nord to me; alerting the rest to my wake form. His words seemed to blast war horns in my head, sending my eyes closed and open again as the headache from the souvenir the Empire gave me only intensified.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" The Nord questioned me before continuing.

"Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." Said the Nord; while turning to the Breton beside him; informing me that he was the thief.

The Breton thief seemed to take offence to that last comment from the Nord. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy." Spat the Breton with venom to the "Stormcloak soldier" sitting in front of me.

"If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell." Jabbered the thief, I was barely paying any mind, trying to soothe my own mind from the pain brought upon by his pointless bickering.

"You there." My attention was called toward the thief. "You and me – we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." The thief told me and I agreed, without so much as returning his words.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The Nord in front of me patronized.

"Shut up back there!" The Imperial soldier driving the carriage yelled to us but my head only got worse at the demand for silence.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief questioned while looking towards the gagged man beside me. The Nord's eye lit up with a fire only seen in times of war, he turned to the thief sitting beside him. "Watch your tongue. You're talking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

As those words left his mouth, I realized not that I was sitting next to; not the general but the High Commander, but that my destination was shared with that of the Empire's mortal enemy.

I dropped my head; just to gaze at my feet, thinking of what I could do to get out of this mess, but my options were limited with my hands bound and me being in such a pathetically weakened state.

I didn't hear anything after that, just my thoughts plagued with memories as I came to terms with my demise waiting for me beyond the gates of the city before us. I didn't hear the murmuring of the thief as he prayed to the Divines, like they were going to do anything.

Feeling every bump of the road, I started to listen for names.

"...General Tulluis the Military Governor…"

"…looks like the Thalmor are with him…"

Now I had the names. The names of who is responsible for this. Tulluis, the Thalmor and the Empire. Now it's just their turn to decide what happens next.

"End of the road." Those words told me the time had come.

I looked up to find we were inside the walls of a small village, Helgen; I think the name was. I turn to find the other wagon is already being unloaded of prisoners and I was next. My gaze then fell upon the block in middle of square of the city I currently sat in a wagon in. Next to said block, stood a tall brisk man hold a halberd axe like it was a staff. I could only assume he would very likely be my death.

I stood up with the rest of the wagon passengers, the thief begging and pleading like a cornered virgin. We all took few to no steps before jumping off and our feet meeting the dirt beneath us.

"Step forward to the block, one at a time when we call your name." A Nord Imperial soldier said while holding a quill in one hand and a book in the other.

"Empire loves their damn list!" The soldier next to me complained.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm" The gagged Jarl walked forward towards the block.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The Nord beside me cried out.

"Ralof of Riverwood." The next name was read and the soldier next to me walked forth next.

"Lokir of Rorikstead." Who could only be the Breton thief in front of me; he instantly had something to say. "No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" Lokir screamed before he tried his luck with the Legion Captain instead.

Lokir took off past the Captain, trying to make a break for the gate.

"Halt!" The Captain commanded, to which the Breton promptly ignored and replied. "You're not going to kill me!"

"Archers!" The Captain called and not a moment later an arrow flew across the air toward the running thief. He turned just in time to receive it in the chest.

"Anyone else feel like running!" The impatient captain tested.

The Imperial soldier with list of names finally took notice that he was one name shy of the number of heads that they rounded up. "Wait. You there. Step forward." He instructed me.

Now I was the center stage of attention.

"Who are you?"

I stood before Imperial soldiers, taller than most of my kind. My hair was long and black as night, pulled back into a Rogue Knot; along with the fair trimmed goatee that adorned my face. My skin complexion was very pale, almost like that of snow. My face was thinner than your basic brutes and defined sharply. I wore War-paint on my face, around both eyes that descended down my cheeks, to my jaw and down my neck with a sharp end. Looks as if I had cried tears of blood that had dried to my face and in some ways; it had. My blood red eye and slit irises glared toward the soldier. I am a Dunmer; known better as a Dark Elf, but that is not my name.

"I am Moro Malani."

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_Authors Notes:_

_That's the prologue done, now the rest._

_Things are going to get a lot weirder trust me and I promise this will be unlike any other Skyrim story ever told before._


	2. Chapter 1-Unleashed

_Authors Notes:_

_Just for interest sake and just because it bound to be fun, whenever you see "X-X-X", it means that the story has shifted to 'third person' and again when it switches back to 'first person'._

**_I Don't Own Skyrim._**

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Chapter 1- Unleashed

I've never really had that much faith or trust in the Empire or anyone for that fact; comes from past personal experience; as I've been let down before. Some may say I'm just being negative, but if you're always expecting the worst, it won't be such a surprise when the worst happens and you're pleasantly surprised when something good happens.

This was not one of those times though.

"Forget the list. He goes to the block." Just enough to know I'm screwed.

I stood in complete silence, while they just carried on bickering. Couldn't a man have some silence before he's relieved of his head? Considering I spent nearly the last 2 decades by myself with no one for company except for the books that kept me busy in my solitude, I would have to get used to it if I had any time left.

I contemplated my life thus far and truthfully, it isn't worthy of song.

_**X-X-X**_

"Next, the dark elf!" Shouted the Captain impatiently as she pointed toward the silent elf who looked as though he nothing was going on.

Suddenly there was a shrieking noise, sounded like something out of Oblivion.

"There it is again, did you hear that?" Asked the Imperial soldier as everyone began to feel uneasy.

"I said next prisoner!" Shouted the Captain as if she had something to prove or just wanted to hold someone under her boot as the axe came down.

"Over to the block prisoner, nice and easy." The worrisome said soldier; to the silent Dunmer not looking to anger the Captain any further.

So, not wanting to drag this out any longer; the tall Dunmer strode over to the block. Kneeling and placing his own head on the block before the Captain could even raise her filthy boot off the ground. He didn't seem to have any last words but sure left an impression by showing he was dying on his own terms and not beneath another's boot.

The headsman took up his axe, leaning back for maximum swing and a clean cut.

But before he even began to swing, a massive black shape appeared from the clouds and descended upon the tower before the towns square.

Shaking the very foundations and staggering everyone still left standing with shear force and pure fear for the great shadow that stared them down like lost sheep.

"Dragon!" Was the only thing heard before the black scaled beast let off, what can only be described as a roar of pure power.

The clear sky became dark and stormy. As if from Oblivion itself, it began to literally rain fire and rock. As if Red Mountain had erupted from the sky at the dragons command.

The black beast, 'roared' again and this time it sent the Dunmer before him; still on the block, flying back into the carriage that carried him there.

Everyone watched in horror as a man was sent flying; smashing the carriage into pieces and getting buried beneath it.

The dragon took to the sky once more. As everyone began to run, a form burst from the rubble he was buried beneath.

Moro looked down to find his armor lying at his feet. It had fallen out the carriage satchel when he crashed into it and broken his bounds with the burst of adrenaline from the excitement. Moro grabbed his armor and threw them back into the satchel before throw it over his shoulder.

"Hey dark elf, come on the gods won't give us another chance!" Called the Nord Stormcloak; from the tower, waving to Moro toward him.

Moro simply turned half-way toward him before speaking with less interest then a wolf had for eating an Imp Stool mushroom.

"To Oblivion with you." With that, Moro turned his back toward the tower; now facing the burning house.

"**I CALL UPON THE POWER OF THE ANCIENTS, UNLEASH THE WRATH OF MY ANCESTORS!**" An almost possessed voice, that was almost not Moro's own sounded throughout the city.

Moro ran toward the burning house, as if it were not on fire. He ran through the inflamed house without even flinching and when he emerged; kicking through the crumbling wooden wall, he was encased in fire. Not as if on fire, as if he was the fire and it reflected in his red eyes.

"Hamming run!" The dying plea of a dying Nord to his son were uttered, the boy ran for cover; just in time before the dragon descended once more.

Moro stood in the line of fire, literately. The dragon took a breath and then again; 'roared', but this time fire came from its gullet, just like the stories parents tell their children.

The man curled up before the dragon was quickly silenced by the sound of the dragon breathing fire. The intense flames blew past the charred remains of the Nord, then engulfed Moro in a flame like coffin. The dragon took off yet again, leaving only fire in its wake.

The Imperial Nord soldier from earlier stood in awe as the flames seemed to claim two lives in one fell swoop, but his awe soon turned into disbelief and confusion as he watched the tall Dunmer walk out the flames; with fire dancing around him like he was a part of it.

"Still alive prisoner?" The shaky voice of the soldier asked not believing his own eyes.

Moro paid him no mind, before taking off yet again down the path before him. He seemed to not notice all the death and destruction around him. He had an objective and he wasn't slowing down.

Fire rained from and to the sky as the dragons hell fire drew on and the Imperial Battle Mages tried in vain as they tried to pelt the creature's thick black hide with fire balls; let alone hit the beast.

Moro reached the door to the keep; that lead underground, as was the layout of most keeps that were built with an emergency escape route out of the city in the case it was invaded by an overwhelming force. Moro slowed to open the door of the keep, just as he pulled the door; one of the fire balls landed a few feet behind him with an explosion. Moro didn't even flinch as he walked into the keep and kicked the door closed before the fire could follow him inside and burn down his only chance of escape.

Inside the keep

Moro leaned back against the door as he just narrowly escaped certain death by the headsman's axe. Gasping at his luck then just lightly chuckling.

Moro felt the power of Ancestors Wrath begin to fade from him. He then quickly placed his hands to the lock of the door and focused what power of his ancestors he had left into the metal and felt the lock melt to the wood and stone; sealing the way.

"Don't need any more trouble coming that way." Moro said to himself as he found himself in the barracks of the keep.

Nodding to no one but himself; as the ideal location to stop for a moment before carrying on, Moro opened the satchel with his gear open to suit up.

He pulled the rags they' put him in off, then pulling on his lose black leather trousers and throwing on his black coat like armor; that was layered in a wing like lapels over the shoulders. He then put his boots on and fastened the buckles, closed the coat with a sash like belt around his torso and tightened the belt. Tightened the corset like leather arm-wrists and pulled the cuff of his sleeve to his wrists, slipped his gauntlets with sharp metal claws at the tips on. Moro then strapped a pouch to his upper thigh and gave it a few taps as it was the most valuable thing on his person. Finally pulled his hood up; to cast a shadow over his features and bringing the glow of his eyes out.

The tasset-like tail of his coat fluttered in the breeze that came from further in the keep, meaning there was another way out.

"I'll need to get a new sword since those fools stole mine." Moro said to himself; before looking to his right; to find a weapon rack displaying iron swords.

"Hmmm, this will have to do for now." Moro breathed with no small amount of annoyance as he grabbed the handles of two iron sword and then throwing them to the ground.

His hands lit up with fire and then Moro pointed his hands toward the iron swords and bathed them in intense flames. In close to no time; the metal began to melt into glowing molten metal bits. Moro grabbed pieces of charcoal and added it to the mix.

Casting a flame cloak; before picking up the smoldering metal in his hands, using his own strength to fold the metal again and again before molding it to resemble a blade. Using the claws of his gauntlets to carve edges and flatten the metal in some area where necessary. The metal soon began to harden as it cooled, Moro set it down; not wanting to damage his sword and stepping back and then hailing the still hot metal with an icy frost spell.

Steam spewed everywhere when ice met hot metal but it soon dissipated and a large sword with a few rough edges was revealed.

Moro picked up the blade and charged it with a surge of lightning, and bits began falling off to reveal a shining greatsword; that was sharpened by lightning to a fine edge.

Satisfied with his improvised handy work, Moro used leather from one of the armors to make the grip and sheath. Fastening the now steel greatsword to his back, Moro looked down the doorway before him.

Moro inhaled deeply, suddenly his senses were overcome by many scents, but as soon as he smelt the one he was looking for; fresh snow and pine, Moro chuckled and then smiled a cruel grin.

He then proceeded further into the keep; following his nose.

_Further in the keep_

"What are we going to do? Just wait until the dragon rips the whole keep apart and bring this place down on us?" A brutish Stormcloak questioned as the rest of his companions just wandered in circles trying to think what to do, clearly not having much luck.

"We don't even know if Jarl Ulfric made it out, what are we doing here?" Questioned another, one of them was making his rounds when he saw something in the hallway; he left to investigate, leaving his companions to bicker amongst themselves.

"For now, we wait; until things calm down up there." Said the only soldier who seemed to be the brains of these fools.

Before another word could be uttered, the soldier who was doing his rounds was flying through the air; screaming. Then he slammed into the rocks with sickening sound; echoing through the halls as they looked at their fallen comrade. They turned in time to see a man wearing black Vampire Armor, standing before them.

Moro drew his new sword and held it firmly with both hands, ready to give a swing and have it taste their blood.

They made the first move.

The largest Stormcloak with a massive warhammer came swinging towards Moro.

Moro readied his stance, in blocking position; the Nord swung his hammer, only for it to meet the blade then before it lost momentum; Moro dropped the stance allowing the Nord to pass right past him. Moro came back up behind the Nord, only to swing his sword backward and take his opponents head; clean off.

"First mistake…"

The two remaining Stormcloaks look at the head of their friend; cut down in an instant and with so little effort. They choose to honor his memory by joining him in Sovngarde.

They charged together, the first one swung his sword at Moro, this time though; he took the full brunt while blocking and before the second one could even swing his axe, Moro bashed the man with the hilt of his sword. Then as the charging man came at Moro, he quickly turned his sword end toward his opponent. The Nord practically ran into his own death, Moro pulled his sword from the dead Nord's body and turned to the last Stormcloak between him and freedom.

Seeing all his friends die before him, the last remaining Nord turned to run; not realizing the direction he ran toward the bridge; was an oil trap. Unfortunately for him, Moro noticed immediately, with one arm; perched his sword on his shoulder and with the other sent a fire ball toward the end of the oil trap.

The ball of flames hit the oil just in front of the cowering Nord, igniting the oil and burning him alive. His cries carried on for at least a minute, but when it was done; Moro sheathed his sword and carried on.

Moro narrowly crossed the bridge, just before a massive boulder came falling; crushing the bridge.

Moro looked back, to gaze upon the remnants of the bridge and carried on.

He had no time to waste.

Turning left, down a stream that lead to a dead end, turning right at the lantern, leading him further down into the cave. Moro finally stopped, when he came face to face with a nest; of frost arachnids.

"Uhhh…" Moro sighed as the massive spiders took notice of him and got their venom glands ready for dinner.

Moro leapt forward into a roll, dodging the flying poison that was aimed at him, he gazed up and drew his sword; ready to carve them into a memory.

The one Frostbite Spider tried to jab him with its two front stinger limbs like they were spears, he blocked and shoved back, sending the arachnid a few meters away. Bringing his greatsword over his head with both hands, and slamming down into its exoskeleton armor; nearly carving the spider in half.

The other spider jumped at Moro; tackling him to the ground. He held its pincer legs at bay with his hands and tried to keep the spiders jaws away from his face. He kicked the frost spider in its abdomen, sending the creature into the cave wall behind it.

Moro rolled back; retrieving his sword and charged the dazed spider. Before it could defend itself; Moro drove his blade straight down into the creatures head, effectively ending the spider's life.

Moro withdrew his blade from the lifeless husk and knelt before the creature's fangs; noticing that venom was dripping off, grabbed an empty vial and collected a fair dose of its venom.

"This will come in handy against the right opponent." Moro said before standing up and placing the Frostbite Venom into his coats pocket, and sheathed his sword again; ready to carry on.

Turning left; leading him further down into the cave, the wind got stronger; meaning the exit was close. He came to a small creak and on the other side of the cave was bear sleeping.

Shaking his head, Moro crouched and slowly moved across the creak; passed a stone column. He made no sound as he treaded past the slumbering bear.

When he was far enough away; Moro stood once more, seeing the bones before him but paying them no mind as the wind practically blew against his face as if he were standing on the coast.

Before him was daylight, something he never thought he would be so happy to see in his life.

He jogged for the cave exit, with the promise of freedom.

_Outside Helgen in Skyrim_

Moro grumbled as the glare of the noon sun; shone down on him. Covering his eyes as he was momentarily blinded, Moro strode slowly forward as his sight adjusted and returned.

Moro took in the wide mass beauty of the landscape known as Skyrim.

"Huff…..hmmm…." Moro slowly inhaled and exhaled the cold air of the mountains choice in wardrobe; mainly snowy cloaks, rainy jackets and mossy boots.

"Freedom…" The Dunmer said to himself as he began his walk down the incline that leads away from Helgen.

But…

The Gods didn't seem to be done with him just yet.

Moro's ears quickly picked up that he was not alone.

The Dunmer grunted in irritation.

"I know you're there, no point in hiding." Moro announced with no small amount of annoyance; waiting for his would-be assassin.

From behind the tree line to his left, a robed figure emerged and walked into the path in front of Moro; a few feet distance between the two.

The two stared each other down like an opposing force meeting the immovable object. Moro didn't know who this person was or what he wanted and he didn't really care, this individuals intentions seemed to be an object in his path. To rob or murder him was yet to be decided, Moro didn't intend to be a victim of either.

"If you value your life, you should stand aside and not pursue me any further." Moro gave his warning to the robed figure in his way; starting to take in his appearance.

The robed figure wore mage robes; that were decorated with odd golden like symbolism, with leather-like boots, the lower cloak of the robes bore similar symbols to those running across the loin cloth of the robes, the stranger also wore gloves to keep the cold out, it was hard to see the strangers face; he was also wearing a metal mask with the same symbols under the hood, but that's when Moro caught sight of an odd metal contraption on the strangers right arm.

The contraption started at the figures shoulder to the elbow and carried on till the wrist; where it strapped to the hand, providing protection to the whole arm.

'Perhaps that's just a measure of defense; in case you run out of magicka or there's something more to it.' Moro thought to himself as he summed up the strange opposition.

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_Authors Notes:_

_This chapter was longer but I wanted the next bit to have title that actually matched the situation. So far but not even close to the distance this story will cover._

_Please review, a lot of energy was spent on this and I'd like to know it was worth it._


	3. Chapter 2-The Two Forces Meet

_Authors Notes:_

_Just to clarify, it took a year for me to reach this point, so if you want more to come faster, review and give me the inspiration get this done quicker._

**_I Don't Own Skyrim._**

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Chapter 2: The Two Forces Meet

_**X-X-X**_

This day has been a complete disaster.

First, the Empire decides their not taking prisoners and there goes my chance to infiltrate their ranks.

Second, it gets better, I get shot with an arrow; luckily I caught it in my binds. Then I have to play possum.

Third, even better, a dragon drops in to make my day even better; at least I was able to slip away unnoticed as the dragon wreaks havoc.

Fourth, seems to be the only good news for the whole day, the only other person who wasn't a Stormcloak and had a spill of bad luck, seems to possess some skill for the battlefield. Bound one minute, then next thing I know; his running through fire like his a Flame Atronach and breaking through a wooden wall like it was parchment.

That fails in comparison to that stunt he pulled in front of the dragon, this guy must be fearless or crazy to do something like that, stand his ground in front of a dragon as it breathed fire in his general direction and not so much as batting an eye.

That look in his eyes, I've know that look all too well, and I think we could both benefit from this.

_**X-X-X**_

"I'm not your enemy, I just want to talk." The hooded mage stated to the glowing red eyed Dunmer before him.

The said elf looked at him more intently then before as if to see if there was lies written on the mask of the mage.

"Why should I trust you? You who wears a mask and obviously doesn't have the civility to give a proper name, Lokir are you not?" Moro asked the hooded mage who was taken aback that he was identified so easily by the man before, well mostly identified.

"Okay, let's talk about this like rational adults!" Yelped the Mage, like a child; caught with his hand in the sweetroll oven.

Moro crossed his arms, while looking straight into where his eyes would be beneath that mask. Weighing his options and silently enjoying watching the nervous Mage shiver in anticipation.

Grinning now that he had the upper hand, Moro lowered his head.

"Fine, but first find your manners." Moro replied to the Mage's desperate plea from earlier.

"Oh; of course." The Mage said with a relieved sigh as he began to relax, the tension may not have left but it certainly wasn't constricting his breathing.

"Perhaps we can move this conversation to a better suited location then just outside a burning village?" The Mage inquired whilst referring to the destruction behind them.

Seeing his point, Moro nodded sternly waved his hand forward referring to the path before them.

"After you."

Keeping at a brisk pace, the two made their way down the hill, till they reached the river, where the path met with three ancient Standing Stones.

Observing the area, Moro concluded that they were a fair enough distance away from the disaster and decided that this would do for whatever the Mage had planned to discussed.

"This will do just fine." Said the Mage, as if he had read the Dunmer's mind, and he may have for all Moro knew.

The Mage took the odd mask he was wearing off, revealing the face of the horse thief of Rorikstead. Before Moro could inquire about why he wished to speak, the Mage kneeled before the gushing water at the bank of the river. Using his hands like scoops, leaning forward washing his face, but the way he scrubbed his face; one may think he was trying to scrub the plague off from his brow.

Then before the dark elf's eyes, it seemed as disturbing as it was amazing, the face of the horse thief fell; or a better word; melted off the Mage's skull. A new face now resided where another was now lost in the tides of the river. Even his hair had turned a few shades lighter.

Though through all this, Moro remained where he was; unfazed that a man just washed his face off; but was certain he would get answers soon enough.

"Sorry about that, let me properly introduce myself." The Mage stood up and turned; now fully facing the Dunmer before him with much younger visage opposed to the one he previously sported. His eyes shone blue; just a few shades lighter than that of a sapphire. He also sported a thin mustache and a small patch on his chin. He almost looked like something of a prince charming from those stories and he probably used that to his advantage with the ladies of Skyrim.

"My name is Strun Lokiir Helburg." Finally they were on equal terms; they both knew each other's names and certainly had a small grasp of each other's abilities.

Moro looked at the now identified mage known as Strun. Now the two stood in silence; sizing each other up; like two opposing armies meeting for the first time on the battlefield.

"Now that introductions have been made, would you mind telling me what it is you wish to discuss with me." Moro stood in place like a statue, setting the stage for Strun.

"Thank you Moro, now to the business at hand." Strun began with serious tone which didn't seem to belong on his face.

"I have a plan that could prove beneficial for not only us, but all of Skyrim. I have a plan to end the war and up until recently it hasn't been going to well. Now though we share a common enemy to a sense. If I ventured a guess, you and the Empire have bad blood between you, am I right?" The Breton mage concluded his opening lines waiting for Moro to respond.

"I've already lost my temper so maybe you can go find it." Moro simply stated in a threatening tone.

Strun seemed amused by the warning from the dark elf, and returned it with a small grin.

"Come now, no need for that aggression. We can still settle this like men without any more violence. My mother always said fighting only solves some problems and its best to talk after a fight because then you're out of steam and are willing to listen to reason."

No sooner than the words left his mouth, a small projectile flew past Strun's face; just nicking his cheek, drawing blood.

Strun eyes darted toward the dark elf before him. Moro stood with his makeshift sword already drawn; gripped in his right hand, blade resting propped against his shoulder. Left arm extended forward, having been the offending hand.

"You talk too much." Moro simply stated.

Strun quickly realized that he was in for it now, getting into battle stance and ready to face the wrath of the Dunmer before him.

Moro readied himself, taking his blade with both hands and charged the mage before him; ready to shut him up permanently.

Taking a swing at the mage with all his pent up anger, Moro watched with trained eyes as the robed Breton expertly dodged the slash by leaning quickly and ducking under the attack at incredible speed. Strun narrowed his eyes and replied to the assault with an uppercut.

The blow met Moro's chin and sent him off his feet and a few meters backwards, yet he stuck the landing and kept his balance. One foot in front of the other, Moro readied himself again; though this time his eyes were trained on his opponent.

"There's no way someone his size would be physically strong enough to actually send me flying. The force behind that punch though, could take someone's head off if he tried, but it still stands that his got a secret to that strength." Moro's eyes searched quickly, before landing the device which sat upon the mages arm; which had also been the arm that clubbed him just now.

Strun was waiting for the dark armored elf to make his next move; all the while he was studying his opponent.

'Odd, that one blow should have knocked him out cold, but his not even dazed. His stance indicates his had training; meaning he isn't a mercenary and if he's smart enough not to attack right away again means his not stupid either. This is good; he's both a well-trained fighter and a thinker, just what I need. If only I could reason with him, but it seems he's more cautious then me so his not letting his guard down.'

Moro stabbed his sword into the ground and held his hands together; aimed at Strun as flickers of heat began to build up.

Strun quickly charged up his ward as he immediately recognized the type of spell the Dunmer was about to unleash. A fireball the size of a man's head flew directly at Strun and collided with his ward and was quickly disarmed and absorbed by the Restoration class spell. Strun felt the Magicka from the fireball pass through him to his arm and become fixated in gem that powered his invention on his arm.

Moro took the opportunity while Strun exposed himself to a physical attack. Anticipating the attack, Strun grinned as he reached with his Magicka; into the device on his arm. The gem in the center piece of his shoulder now shinned as its gyros began to spin. The device began to pump Magicka into Strun, but of a very different nature to what he was currently using.

Moro's blade neared Strun as he swung, but to his surprise his blade stopped dead as it collided with the ward like it were a stationary stone. The ward that should only block magical attacks had stopped Moro's blade mid-swing.

The ward absorbed the energy from the blow and redirected it, sending back to its origin; knocking Moro onto his back and knocking his sword from his grasp.

Moro got up, eyes not showing his surprise; only his irritation. Eyeing the piece of machinery on the mages arm, an idea came to mind about the ward that sent him flying.

The Breton grinned at the look on the elf's face, believing he had won the fight now that his opponent was kneeling at him whilst glaring. Strun lowered his ward and took one confident step forward.

"Nice right? That's a special ward that blocks physical attacks, a spell of my own creation." Strun said in prideful tone.

"Now if you're ready to cool off, will you cooperate with me now?" The Breton questioned with a victorious tone in his voice that only provoked Moro's growing headache.

Ironically Moro decided to reply to Strun's question by blasting the Breton mage with intense flames. Strun quickly jumped back, raising his rand hand; producing a magical barrier to protect him from the flames.

Strun simply grinned behind his shield as the Dunmer throwing the flames at him; had gotten up but was still crouched on one knee as he continued his assault by fire, one-handed.

'He doesn't give up easy good, takes real persistence to accomplish anything great.'

All the while Strun was concentrated on maintaining the ward, Moro right hand reached to his lower back. Attached to his belt; was a small quiver sheath filled with small ebony bolts. Usually used for crossbow ammunition, Moro had a different skill he used them for.

Grasping a single bolt between two fingers like it was another finger.

Eyes locked on to the bolts destination, whilst maintaining the intense attack of Destruction class magic.

Arm muscles contracted with inhuman pressure gearing to release.

Quick as a flash, Moro thrusted his right arm forward as if to pierce an invisible attacker's heart.

The single ebony bolt flew free toward the mage who had yet to realize why the bolt's wielder just struck his arm out; almost crossing into his own flames.

In the millionth of a second, completely unawares to the mage who the projectile was aimed at, the bolt flew and struck it target with deadly precision.

Strun felt a pressure striking his arm with great strength, breaking his concentration. He was shoved back a step, quickly gaining his bearings; Strun's eyes darted to his right arm to search why he was shoved back. His worry soon turned to dread as he saw a single small projectile embedded into the gyro of his arm contraption, jamming the sequence.

Moro watched as the contraption on the Breton's arm began to emit a screech sound and spewing steam as the mechanisms tried in vain to perform their purpose but were halted by a bolt that held strong as the machine began to fail. Moro could only grin at his success.

Strun seemed to regain his ability to move after the shock and tried desperately to remove the bolt stuck in his contraption.

He was finally able to remove the bolt, grasping it in one hand and held it out to its owner. Smiling that he was able to save his contraption and that the Dunmer's plan had failed. He saw an amused to look on the Dunmer's face as he raised an eyebrow toward him.

Strun looked back to his arm to find that the gem had lost its glow and pieces of the machine began falling apart like a wilted leaf within a clenched fist.

Moro just watched as shock and anger set into the Breton's features.

Strun simply undid the straps that held the machine to his arm; as it served no more use, and let the hunk of metal fall to the ground. Throwing the bolt aside, Strun looked straight into the eyes of the man who destroyed his invention.

"You will pay for that." Strun spat venom.

**A Few Hours Later…**

The two titans began their dual at high noon and were still going. The sun had ventured from its majestic zenith to the sinking dusk of an approaching twilight.

Sky had turned to an orange tinge as the two warriors continued there combat, bare-handed, on their knees, completely covered in filth.

Strun threw another punch at Moro's face, it landed but packed no real injury as both were exhausted. Strun panted as Moro simply stared back but was obviously fatigued.

"Give up yet?" Strun huffed out of breath.

"Oh, I thought you died and your body was still fighting." Moro remarked with a plain expression.

So they stared at one another for a few seconds before Strun burst out laughing; very short on breath made him hack after a few cackles before he continued. Moro simply looked back in awe before returning with a grin and light chuckle.

Both continued their shared muse for a minute before leaning back for support after the banter.

In a twist of fate, Moro found himself lying against the Thief Stone and Strun perched up against the Mage Stone. Moro simply shook his head in the display of pure irony.

Strun was the first to break the silence between the two seasoned warriors.

"So how do you want to call this, a tie?" Strun stretched his leg to relieve the tension from the knee-brawl.

Moro's eyes focused for a moment; contemplating the minor issue.

"Not sure, I had the advantage for the majority of our battle." Moro stated matter-of-factly.

Strun's face went red for second before attempting to jump up but fell right back down when his knees caved like a mead soaked sweetroll. Sitting up straight; shaking off the embarrassment of falling on his ass.

"Well if we are speaking in terms of points, I knocked you down first; meaning I take the lead." Strun stated in a gentleman; almost sweetly voice, but his eyes betrayed his inflated ego which caused the fall just now.

Moro eyes twitched under his hood as he felt his own pride begin to pull at its reins.

"That doesn't count. You used that device of yours to club me, you didn't use your own strength to knock me to the ground" Moro's tongue whipped Strun's words out the air and smacked him across the face, metaphorically of course.

Strun sneered at the comeback from the elf; he began to rant at the top of his tired lungs.

"What about you?! You took that punch like it was nothing; no ordinary man or mer can withstand such force without passing out! You've got a trick of your own…" Strun ranted on but Moro stopped paying attention when he heard a snap of a branch.

Moro's head shot to his right, searching the trees for any kind of threat. Strun continued to rant about their 'battle'; Moro could have sworn his spotted a great pair of red glowing eyes hidden behind the tree line.

Growing impatient with Strun's yapping, Moro grabbed a small rock and threw it at Strun; straight into his forehead, without taking his eyes off the eerie woods.

"What was that…?" Strun shut his trap when he caught the look in Moro's eyes. Turning his gaze toward the trees and saw the reason for Moro's unease, the red eyes that stalked their actions.

Before either could move a muscle a great gale blew out of nowhere, they covered their eyes from the mighty winds.

"**_HAHAHAHA HAHAHA!_**" A great bellow of laughter that echoed like the wrath of Daedra in the void of Oblivion. A great span of black wings flapped out from behind the cover of the woods; revealing the black dragon that destroyed Helgen flew up and hovered before the two warriors.

Strun and Moro sat where they were, pure terror gripped both; they simply gazed at the beast that eyed them with what can only be described as curious amusement.

"_**YOU TRULY ARE GORAAN KLIIN KIIR. YOU AMUSE ME JOOR; SO I WILL SPARE YOU, BUT IF YOU DARE APPOSE ME I WILL BE HIN DU!**_" The words that came from the dragon were otherworldly and haunting. The dragon; having made his threat, took off skyward, quickly disappearing into the clouds, the roars became distant then stopped all together.

The two sat right where they had been only looking up to where the beast had disappeared into the night's sky. They had few words to share still stricken in terror.

"Draw?" Strun asked not taking his eyes off the sky.

"Draw." Moro confirmed his companions query.

**_ZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZS_**

_Authors Notes:_

_Well that was fun and I've meaning to write that for so long. I apologize for the lengthy bolt scene but combat scene isn't really my strong point for I am still technically new to this game._

_If you want to know what Alduin said you will have to wait or look it up, I will begin translating later for I don't want to spoil the surprise, but if you can't resist the urge remember Pandora._

_Next chapter will take a turn that usually only experienced or veteran Skyrim players follow, you will soon understand. Review and for now, Fare Thee Well._


	4. Chapter 3-The Call of Destiny

_Authors Notes:_

_Now we get to the really fun bits and worry not, I won't force you to relive every moment in Skyrim that would take forever. So only the best and my best will be put to the grindstone._

**_I Don't Own Skyrim._**

_**ZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZS**_

Chapter 3: The Call of Destiny

The shock of being threatened by a creature of legend finally wore off from the pair who finally found the strength to stand decided it was time to find shelter.

"Where is the nearest town?" Moro asked.

"Nearest is a little village called Riverwood; some ways North." Strun replied gazing in the town's general direction.

"Then we should head in opposite direction." Moro stated whilst gazing past the river.

Strun took a double take before looking back at Moro flabbergasted. "What? Why?"

Moro's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of something. "In case you missed it, a dragon just leveled a decent size town and just flew off to gods know where. I don't know about you but I would rather avoid a potential buffet if the dragon changes his mind and turns around looking for us in the most obvious location."

Strun nodded, looking to what might have his companion's attention. "Point taken…"

Eyes searching for shelter, when Strun caught sight of a structure on the side of the mountain, it was already dark but it was just visible. "There, across the river in the side of the mountain."

"I see it; but what is it?" Moro questioned, obviously unfamiliar with the structure.

"It's an ancient Nordic Ruin, remnants of a time that predates the Empire." Strun recited as if it were out of a book.

Moro watched closely but kept an eye on his companion at all times. "Anything else I should know?"

"Only that they are pretty common in Skyrim and are very extensive, built to withstand weather, time and war. If what you say is true, it is the perfect place to hide; normal predators steer clear and the smell of death from the tombs would mask our scent from any other predator. They run deep and wide, no dragon will get in without giving us enough warning and they're always built with emergency escape routes." Strun concluded with a grin on his face.

Moro nodded at the Breton before taking a step toward the topic of conversation. "Let's go then."

Strun shook his head to the wreckage of his device. "Just give me a minute." Strun mumbled before kneeling before the carnage and picking up the pieces, in just a minute he had reassembled the whole thing and had it attached to his arm again.

Strun then sent Moro a harrowing glare. "What, I am not going to apologize." Moro replied to Strun's attempted at intimidation.

Strun grunted at Moro's bluntness. "You destroyed my creation and you're going to pay for it." The words from the Breton didn't seem to faze Moro as he simply looked back before he decided to be a critic.

"It is not my fault you shoddily assembled that device of yours, I only intended to jam it; it's not my fault your toy fell apart because the parts couldn't handle the strain. Next time I suggest you craft parts that actually fit." Moro criticized and stated his case, which only proved to infuriate Strun.

"Hey! I barely had anything to work with, I salvaged these parts from the ruins I found them in, and they don't fit any better." Strun concluded out of breath and red in the face.

Moro simply raised an eyebrow. "So you're a tinkerer, that's your problem; you used parts that were not meant to function in such a way. I will admit that your creation is impressive but could you stand to improve it by creating parts that are meant for the purpose of that device." Moro stated as he started walking toward the river.

"We will talk later, we're burning starlight." Moro spoke as if he was a commanding officer; leaving no room for anymore words, Strun mouth hung open before he dropped his head, surrendered and followed.

Side by side they came to a stop when they met the river; with a rather strong current in the moonlights high tide. Strun grinned; thinking he had a chance to impress his rather sour companion.

Grinning, the determined Breton prepared for his spectacle. "I'll show you miss-matched parts." With that, the device on Strun's arm came alive with energy; the gyro shoulder piece began to rotate; charging the device up for …something.

With a battle cry, Strun thrusted his fist into the water of the streaming river, the device on his right arm began to expel steam.

Suddenly the spot that Strun had struck began to glow a light; almost white blue. Ice began to form at the tips of the mages fingers and spread a feet till a path of solid ice stood before the mage, a bridge of ten centimeter thick ice from one side of the river to the other.

Strun stood up; chest inflated with pride and satisfaction. He opened his eyes only to be greeted by. "That's a bad idea." The Dunmer merely stated, ignoring the elf's warning; Strun took one step for his pride and one great leap for his ego.

Strun made his landing on solid ice, turning around at the shore like a dancer waiting for applause; bowing at his victories spectacle of magic, physical prowess and genius.

Then…

**CRACK**

"Dragon shit…" Was all Strun had time to utter before his marvel of ice gave way to introduce him to the tide of the river.

The cold water from the melted ice soaked Strun's robes and bones in mere moments at meeting the surface.

The weight of his invention dragged him down as the current grabbed his form. The weight keeping him just below the surface and the current pulling him nowhere he wanted to go.

Strun was struggling to fight the current when he felt the back off his robe forcefully yanked. He soon found himself breathing air again as something stronger than the current and his weight dragged him across the water.

Then he was out of the water all together and flung like pebble onto the grass of the ledge that overlooked the river just a few feet above the riverbed.

After a few hack and quick breathes to relieve his lungs of the water, before looking up to see Moro climb up onto the ledge he was just recently flung over, Strun realized that they had crossed the river.

Moro never took his eyes off the mage; as he walked up and kneeled before his Breton 'companion'. "Next time; don't show off or I'll leave you there." Moro made clear very quickly before standing up straight and crossing his arms across his chest, waiting for Strun to retrieve his bearings.

A short while later they continued on, they passed by the little town called Riverwood on the other side of the river; making sure to give it a wide berth. They soon came to a path that took them up the mountain.

At a ruined tower halfway up the mountain; around a campfire, a few bandits were bickering at the lack of pay from their last raid. One was about to speak when a sharp sound penetrated the nights sky and her throat.

The two remaining bandits watched as one of them fell chocking on her own blood. Turning around to see a pair of intruders approaching, the bandits charged with no other thoughts other then: 'Make bleed!"

Moro turned to his companion. "Now show me what you can really do." It was barely a command, more of a request; and Strun grinned before reaching into his robes pulling out a folded up piece of metal which quickly unfolded releasing a cloth that formed a hood. The metal fully unfolded in less than a second; now in the shape of a mask, the mask Strun wore when they 'first met outside Helgen' now donned his face.

Strun walked forward awaiting the approaching fools; forearms held in an 'X' form in front of him, an eerie purple energy engulfed both of his hands.

Strun twisted his wrists and his hands gripped into fists but as if he held something. Then the purple energy formed into curved hilts, Strun's grin widened as he pulled his arms apart toward his sides, as they moved the curved hilts extended in rigid blades.

The bandits didn't flinch as Strun now stood before them with two conjured ethereal Daedric swords; both screamed as one raised his warhammer intent on smashing the Breton's skull while his friend wanted to do the same with his greatsword.

'Too easy.' Strun grinned to himself under his mask.

Strun raised his arms crossing his swords above his head, catching the two weapons; effectively halting and neutralizing the attack. The two bandits looked in surprise at the ease in which they were stopped. Before they could think of anything else, Strun retracted both blades; dropping their weapons from their grip to the floor, leaving them open. Strun slashed both swords forward horizontally, before turning around releasing the bound weapons from his grip and their plane as they vanished.

He walked back to where Moro watched; arms crossed as the two bandits with the stupid looks on their face fell with no scream as their heads rolled down the mountains decline.

Strun's smug look was audible from behind his mask as he approached Moro. "Well, what did you think?"

Moro looked at Strun, studying the details of his mask. "Nicely done." Moro uttered almost in a rehearsed voice that Strun didn't seem to pick up.

There was nothing special about the hood other then it being a golden shinny colour at the trimming. The mask itself was something to behold, it was obviously crafted long before their time and was something to behold. From the crown to the tip of the chin; was a dividing line that separated the mask right down the middle, indicating it could fold in half. The mask was a bronze-gold like metal similar to the metal Strun's arm device is made from. It shared the same patterns of inward rotating rectangles; the eyes were red gem-like lenses with hexagonal cut edges.

'Interesting craftsmanship, I'll have to ask when I get the chance.' The words echoed for moment through his mind before they carried on to the barrow.

When they reached the entrance they found it guarded by three bandits, they were easily dispatched by Moro who displayed his skills.

Nailing the first archer in the head with a bolt; parrying a battleaxe before hitting the wielder with the hilt of his makeshift greatsword and running him through. The second archer almost got lucky, almost. Moro's reflexes kicked in just before her first arrow could impale his back, spinning towards her; he easily avoided all her additional arrows and was at her doorstep almost faster than she could blink. Even in the moonlight it was like chasing a shadow that was faster than the wind and seemed to know your move before you did.

The archer reached for her dagger, but before she could look up for him; she felt the dagger slip from her hand. He was practically next to her, shoulder to shoulder; Moro looked into her eyes and saw pure terror with tears begging for mercy. He had the tip of her dagger to the base of her spine. His ears then caught not only her rapid heartbeat; but also a faint one; glancing down toward her midsection; it wasn't visible but he knew what it meant.

Moro looked the Nord woman dead in the eyes. "What's your name?" He asked the crying woman in gentle tone but spared none of the seriousness.

The woman seemed shocked at the question, but tried to find the words through her tears. "A-A-Ar-Ari…" She barely whispered.

"Listen to me; carefully. You will leave this place and go home to wherever that may and never return. Leave this life behind of robbing and murdering; make a better life for your child." Moro whispered the last three words but she heard him.

Realization set into her eyes. "Count yourself lucky, your child saved your life for I refuse to kill such innocence, and you don't have an evil soul; your eyes speak for you." Moro spoke silently before handing Ari back her dagger.

She had the choice and she made it.

She sheathed her dagger and she found a pouch of gold stretched out before her.

"For making the right choice." Moro said placing the pouching in her hands.

Stepping aside, Ari walked down the steps passed Strun who was giving Moro a questioning look as he spared and paid the woman who had shot arrows at him.

Ari walked away, not knowing that she would meet the Dunmer who spared her again.

"She made a bad choice, doesn't mean more should suffer if she is willing make amends." Moro spoke as he watched Ari walk down the path they came.

Strun chuckled. "You've got a soft spot." Strun simply stated with a wide grin.

Moro looked at Strun irritated; recognizing the tone in Strun implication. "Not the one you're thinking of…" Moro paused.

"And keep it to yourself." Moro glared down at Strun from the top of the steps.

Proceeding to the massive door of the ruins, the two looked at each other before nodding and pushing the door open together. As soon as they were safely inside they shut the door with an eerie silence. The ruins ceiling already had holes in it; so the wind from the door opening wouldn't be noticed by possible enemies.

The entrance hall was a mess, littered with snow, skeletons, rotting skeevers and a rather fresh corpse. Moro proceeded to search the body when he found a garnet clenched in a death grip in the Nord's hand.

"Fought to the death over a jewel, tsk." Moro pocketed the gem before hearing the distinct sound of a conversation.

Moro gestured to Strun to stay low, the two snuck behind a massive support column and leaned in to overhear the conversation.

"What if Arvel doesn't come back, I want my share from that claw." The female bandit complained before the other dismissed her.

The two unlikely companions looked at one another, before anything could be done Strun began to charge up his magicka for a quite confrontation, but he was distracted for a mere moment by snow falling on his shoulder. Surprised, the magicka change caused the gyro of the device to spin and hiss, ruining any chances of a quite confrontation.

Strun heard the bandits approach the origin of the noise; being him. Turning to his right only to find Moro had vanished, leaving him all alone.

"Fine by me!" Strun reached forward with both hands as a familiar sensation filled his hands in purple highlights.

The two bandits approached the pillar, weapons brandished when the masked figure of the mage stepped out from behind the pillar with two ethereal swords in hand.

"LET'S START!" Strun cried before charging.

Leaping forward, form turned sideways, one sword arm extended forward while the other behind his back like a regal blades-man stance. He thrusted his blade only to be deflected by the shield, Strun carefully maneuvered that he was in front of the bandit so the archer didn't have a clear shot.

His opponent took his own sword and swung downward like the mighty blacksmith, only for Strun to catch the blade between his own in a masterfully maneuvered twin blade cross. The bandit's sword was now lodged between the jaws of a lion as the lion bit and sliced through the iron blade, cutting his enemies weapon in half.

In awe, the bandit was impaled by both blades and marched backward as Strun pushed him forward using the dying bandit as a shield from the arrows an angry archer was losing.

Strun released his swords and shield when he was close enough, bending his knees at a ninety degree angle to evade the incoming arrow at point blank and deliver a strong punch to the bandits midsection, knocking more than wind out. Followed by fast yet effective punches to her shoulders, elbow and ribs. Finishing with an uppercut that lifted her off the ground and sent her down the steps behind her; as she ceased breathing before even hitting the ground.

While checking to see if the bandit was actually dead, the bandit Strun used as a shield earlier crept behind him with an iron mace in hand and murder in his eyes.

Raising his arm to strike the mage, Strun spun around of on one foot and planted the other on the bandit's chest and sending him back into the pillar he hid behind. The bandit slammed into the stone, frozen in place; he looked down to find the arrowheads that impaled his back now sticking out right in front of him soaked in blood. The bandit slid down with his last breath, smearing blood all over the pillar.

Releasing a baited breath, Strun inhaled and relaxed as the danger was absolved.

He began looking around in slight annoyance. "Okay, where are you hiding, you bastard?!" Strun voiced his obvious irritation.

Strun then caught sight of his companion, but could've sworn he wasn't there a moment ago, as he spied Moro sitting on the stone alter like table; arm rested on one knee while the other leg hung off the table end. Moro simply looked at Strun with mild interest.

"I wanted to gauge your strength without my assistance… and that was clearly your mess not mine…" Moro justified his momentary absence.

"And?" Strun continued waiting for more of an explanation.

"…and I have concluded that you are a talented swordsman and barehanded fighter, your magical prowess is still in question." Moro concluded like a scholar observing a test subject exhibiting reactions to an experiment.

Strun was taken aback by the response. "That's it; you just leave me and watch the show when I could've been shived by this guy a minute ago." Strun pointed to the dead bandit with a chest full of arrowheads.

Moro raised a brow then got to his feet and walked to the campfire behind the fuming Strun. "I will admit I had doubts that you would escape that last one uninjured, but I'm certain you would've survived." Moro spoke as he fed the flames more wood and warmed his hands in a crouched position.

Strun almost burst a vein at that last comment. "And how you be so certain that I would survive?!" Strun screamed at the top of his lungs; causing Moro to cringe and cover his ears as Strun's voice echoed through the ruins, Moro could've sworn the ground shook with Strun's anger.

Moro stood up to look Strun in the eyes after taking the mask off the Breton's face and raising a finger between the two of them in sense to say shut it.

"One, don't you scream in my ears like that again. Two, lower your voice or you might as well ring the dinner bell for that dragon. And three, you survived Helgen same as me and held your ground against me for an entire afternoon, so stop whining." Moro finished on a stern note before taking a few steps to the other end of the campfire and sat down on a bedroll; leaning against the chest.

Strun's gaze lightened as realized that Moro wasn't a people person.

Sitting down in front of the fire, he decided to have a little heart to heart with his companion, in an attempt to understand this predator like attitude.

"Sorry about that. So why did you come to Skyrim this time of year, don't get a lot of tourist in civil war season." Strun joked in an attempt to lighten the mood; he only received a suspicious look from Moro.

"And how is that any of your business?" Moro questioned the smiling Breton.

Strun sighed. "It's not, but I think if we are traveling together; we might as well get to know each other and maybe avoid another incident like this one." Strun said referring to the mess.

Moro just stared back like he hadn't heard him, but Strun knew he did. "Look you are obviously not social person so I'll start and you follow." Moro narrowed his eyes at Strun's suggestion.

"I'm Strun Helburg, Breton born and raised in Skyrim. I'm gifted in magic, tinkering and with swords. I learned to fight with my hands from a friend at the College of Winterhold, it is called Graceful Claw Style; a fighting style common with Khajiit monks. I am also a student of said College and was recently due for execution in my own attempt to infiltrate the Stormcloaks and give Ulfric Stormcloak some well-deserved retribution for all his done." Strun finished with a snarl at the mention of Ulfric's name.

Moro took note not to bring up the leader of the rebellion and contemplated whether to share in return. Looking over his options, he realized if he were to have any chance of survival, he needed allies because he always fell short of those due to living isolated most of his life.

"Moro Malani, born as a Cyrodiilic Dunmer in the year 166 of the Fourth Era on the 27th of Last Seed." Moro sighed before concluding all the little information regarding him; he was willing to divulge.

Strun eye shot wide for a moment before he smirked like he just cured all the world's problems, as if, the world be so boring with nothing to give anyone a reason to live, there is purpose in chaos.

"See, we already have something in common." The smile on Strun's face reminded Moro of a Khajiit he met once outside Skingrad, 'The Liar' he was called if Moro recalled correctly.

The smirk was almost unsettling for Moro. "Cause that is also my birthdate, on that exact same year." Strun said with that wicked smile and Moro knew there was more unsettlement to come.

"We're basically twins!" Moro knew he wouldn't like what he had to say.

"There is no relation, don't let it go to your head," Moro said before throwing Strun's strange mask back. "Or this won't fit over that already inflated ego of yours."

Strun could only snicker.

"Never seen anything like that mask, it's like gold but lighter and stronger then steel." Moro stated with an underlined question.

Strun's eye twinkled like a child was offered his favorite toy before his birthday.

"Ever heard of the Dwemer?" Strun asked with pride.

"That's a stupid question to be asking a Dunmer of all people, we're practically the reason they vanished of the face of Mundus 3000 years ago." Moro said in a slightly annoyed tone at a classic history lesson Strun obviously missed.

Realization sank into Strun's eyes before continuing. "Right, anyways they have a lot of ruins here in Skyrim, and I must confess; I've always been obsessed with their work, they were so advanced, and so I dedicated part of my life to unlocking the mysteries they left behind in their machines. This mask belonged to a Tonal Architect, sort of a Mage slash Engineer. My Gyroscopic Indestructible Zenith Modifiable Orientation device is made from part of Dwemer…"

"What?" Moro interrupted Strun's explanation.

Strun recognized the question. "This device I made on my arm, I call it…"

"Just call it a G.I.Z.M.O. already." Moro cut off his companion again who almost seemed hurt, by the downgrading.

"Okay, anyways I made the G.I.Z.M.O. from part of Dwemer armor and Steam Centurions in their ruins, but you had a point earlier by saying it needs to be upgraded with matching parts but I suck at smithing metals and I don't trust anyone with my designs, not to mention my designs are all in my head." Moro raised a brow at the last part.

"You don't take down notes, clever yet foolish." Moro reprimanded.

"I do take notes it's just sometimes I can't read it myself." The Breton mage said with a tone of embarrassment.

Moro sighed before Strun turned to him again ready for a question that he's been itching to ask. "What's the story with you and the aggressive attitude?" Strun laid out the mammoth in the cave.

Moro looked at Strun with glowing red eyes that shone with danger, wasn't the most unsettling thing Strun had staring at him.

"I'm not inclined to share that information, but I will say I've been let down too many times and it's always cost me dearly, so I spent the last two decades alone training and researching everything in my library."

"I can respect that, we all have our secrets." Strun said with a nod.

"On that, we can agree." Moro said before lying back further and closed his eyes.

"Now if you don't mind, I need sleep, our dual earlier took a lot out of me, I suggest you do to. Don't try anything, I'm a light sleeper." Moro gave his piece and the Breton only yawned in agreement before lying on his own bedroll, his breathing became relaxed and deep within a few minutes.

Moro however didn't sleep, he simply rested his eyes without letting his guard down, and some secrets keep you up at night.

_A Few Hours Later…_

Moro's eyes shot open as he heard something, it was very faint but his enhanced hearing picked it up, whatever it was. He listened closer but he could only make out a rhythmic beat.

Strun suddenly stirred, their eyes met. "You hear that too?" The now shaken Breton said before both rose.

Moro wondered how Strun could hear it for he doubted his hearing was as sharp as his.

They came to the stair that descended into the temple, suddenly the beat stopped and they looked at one another. "Anything else I should know about these ruins, before we continue?"

"Nothing that comes to mind, I haven't really explored any of these ruins, I specialize in Dwemer ruins. I know there something, probably not important." Strun said with a blank expression.

The two warriors began to follow the call.

_**ZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZS**_

_Authors Notes:_

_So far so good. The next chapter is guaranteed to knock you for a 180, I promise._

_Till next time, Fare Thee Well._


	5. Chapter 4-The Legend Awakens

_Authors Notes:_

_I would like to thank you all first, now you guys are thinking: "Has he got voices in his head or something?" I assure you my sanity has always been questioned but has not changed regardless. Even if you aren't reviewing I know there are people out their reading this. Now we get to the story and I promise you, to you who might not have guessed yet, the story might flip your perspective of reality._

**I Don't Own Skyrim.**

**_ZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZS_**

Chapter 4: The Legend Awakens

_**X-Strun POV-X**_

This has turned out to be the strangest day; by far, of my life. My plans don't always go according… to plan, but now I feel a sense that maybe; that will change.

Taking the most cautious steps I'd ever seen, Moro descended down the stone staircase; only to stop at the mess at the bottom of the stairs. Moro seemed to be admiring my handy work on the bandit, who lay in a puddle of their own blood that had long since frozen. Kneeling down; Moro began to rummage through the corpses pockets to find anything of value. I was slightly ticked off that he'd steal from the dead.

"Is that really necessary, show a little decency to the dead?" I voiced my complaint as Moro found a pouch that made a sensational jingle noise.

The stern Dunmer turned around to throw me a look of indifference, if I'd ever seen it. His eyes seemed to be aflame with irritation and a sage like focus. "It probably didn't even belong to them in the first place, and I could surely use the coin, I don't know about you; but I won't waste an opportunity."

I might not like it, but he's got a point.

We continued further into the ruins; making a few turns past urns; that Moro was too keen on searching for anything of worth. I…grabbed a few jewels and coins as well; I too had an insatiable curiosity that demanded I search every urn a second time in case Moro missed something.

We proceeded through the ruins well lining our pockets, until we came to find a lone bandit patrolling a chamber with a switch in the center of the room. We stopped and hid.

"Leave the switch alone he says… dangerous he says. I'll show him dangerous I'm not fraid of nothin." The impatient bandit mumbled to himself before standing before the switch, he was almost twitching with the same boredom I get in boring lessons at the College.

With the grace of a novice wielding a shield like a spear, the stupid bandit pulled the lever and set himself up on a date with the harvester of souls. Hundreds of bee sized projectiles shot from all directions from carefully hidden; to the untrained and inexperienced eye, bores in the walls. The outlaw didn't move for a moment before falling backward to reveal that his veins had turned a dark purple from the poison.

"Idiot, if all my time in Dwemer ruins have taught me anything, it's that any of any lost culture has measures in place to ensure that there treasures are not stolen." I spoke aloud, Moro stepped forward and grabbed one the darts from the ground before…licking it?

His face frowned at the flavor, well what else was he expecting when you put something like that in your mouth. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?" I asked with a frown that rivaled Moro's.

Moro suddenly spat out whatever was in his mouth; I swear he was aiming for me. "Don't you dare mention my mother!" Moro hissed with a snarl and my hairs stood up like soldiers ready for war at his threat.

Before I could apologies for my unintended offence, Moro turned back to the corpse. "This poison is potent, I can detect reminisce of Deathbell and Nightshade. All this time and even the poison hasn't lost its lethality."

I was amazed at Moro deduction, his familiar with poisons; I'll keep that in mind next time I eat or drink anything around him. Speaking of which…

I took out a loaf of bread and an apple from my satchel before digging in. I leaned against the wall as I ate; Moro didn't seem famished so I didn't offer. Moro seemed more interested with the glyphs on the wall above the opposing gate.

He turned to the wall on the left where three pillars stood; looking between them I thought he was an owl stalking his dinner. He moved forward and examined the pillars; he then spun them around to reveal that they too had animal glyphs on them, just like the wall above the gate had.

"What you up to?" I asked carefully as he spun the pillars a few more times, he then turned to me and I spied amusement in his eyes.

"Pull the lever." He said with a straight face but I could almost smell his humor.

"No way am I pulling that lever, I'm not a stupid bandit." I said in defiance as I beckoned to the purple bandit on the floor.

"You claim to have explored Dwemer ruins, and I know Dwemer ruins are one the toughest to survive let alone explore. So let's see if your reflexes are as sharp as your wit." Moro crossed his arms with grin as he made his point and I couldn't refuse, I swear the Nordic pride is beginning to rub off on me.

I stood up to the lever and grabbed it, I glared at Moro before pulling quick and jumping backward into a roll, only to find the gate had opened and I had dodged nothing.

I stood up to find Moro already proceeding threw the gate, I chased after him as he ransacked a chest of it valuables. "Next time you plan something like that; a warning would be nice." I berated the elf who turned around with an amused look. "And pass up a little amusement from a fool? Not a chance, you're a mage; so you should be smart enough to figure it out." The Dunmer was enjoying this way too much.

"I'm not a fool…I just don't think everything through…or so I've been told." I said with slight embarrassment at my own lack of attention.

"Anyway, the chanting is getting louder; means we're getting closer." Moro stated, dropping the previous amused persona. I stopped and listened, and I be damned he was right, the beats we were hearing was chanting. It was still faint, but it was clearer.

We found a spiraling staircase that went deeper down into the ruins; maybe it will take us to the center of Nirn. When we reached the bottom, we found a reason for the lack of corpses from thieves and raiders, skeevers.

The charged at me first for I insisted on going down first, poor choice on my part…again.

The three dog sized rats jumped at me all at once; only to greet; face first with my Physical Ward Spell. I shoved back; hard. Summing a sword, I cut the oversized rodents down in no time. I spied a soul gem and a scroll on the stone table before me, but before I could acquire either, Moro sped past me and snatched the soul gem and looked at it like it was gold.

Poor choice the scroll had a Fire Ball spell sealed inside. Collecting the spoils we carried on till we came down a passage that seemed to have been coated in silk webbing.

I heard something but it wasn't the chanting from earlier, it was a voice. A male voice calling to some names for help, he sounded like he was terrified. Almost on impulse I charged forward, conjuring two swords, I cut through the webbing blocking my path in one double strike before leaping into the chamber.

I saw a Dunmer, tied up in webs on the far side of the room. His eyes grew wide and he began to writhe in terror but was restricted to screaming. "No, not again! Get it away from me, get it away!" I looked at him confused before I saw a shadow pass over him; I looked up only to find eight hungry eyes staring right back at me.

Hanging from the ceiling, was the biggest Frostbite Spider I had ever seen.

"Ugg, can't you think ahead for once?" Moro sighed with his Greatsword drawn and ready for action.

The massive arachnid descended to the ground and charged I met it halfway with a few swipes. Moro stood back to observe the attack, he noticed the injured leg just as I did.

"I'll distract it, you get its legs." I shouted he merely nodded in response.

The spider tried to slash with it front pincers, I deflected them with my own attacks. The spider's attention was fully on me, when I caught a glance of Moro, he moved faster than the wind, his black armor made him look like a living shadow at the speed he moved.

Moro appeared in the spiders left blind spot and swung his sword from one West to East, severing three legs in one swing. Unable to hold its own weight, the spider fell down. I acted fast, I swung my arm down fast to force release a hidden part of my GIZMO. Has a nice ring to it.

A fold swung out and locked in place, releasing a blade. The folding blade was as long as two thirds of my arm, I thrusted it whole length through the spiders head, only stopping when it hit the stone floor.

The spider stopped moving as its life slipped away, I retracted my arm; giving the blade a swing to get the blood off, I flipped it back and returned the blade to its hidden position.

In the heat of the moment, I forgot what was going on, till the tied up dark elf called for his freedom. "Don't leave me here for Arkay sake! Get me down from here!" The dark elf ranted on, still in fear survival shock from the spider.

"Good you killed it, now cut me down before anything else shows up!" A bit rude but he was the one tide up.

"Hold up, who are you?" I questioned before I do anything else.

"Oh, Arvel the Swift at your service and mercy, now show a little of the latter and cut me down!" Arvel screamed at me, still lacking in manners, then I remembered from earlier. The bandits were talking about an Arvel and some claw.

"Do you have the claw?" I tested and immediately saw a change in his eyes, he looked worried for a moment, wonder why.

"Yes the claw, I know how it all fits together. The claw and the hall of stories, you won't believe the power the Nord's have locked away here." Arvel finished his rant before I finalized.

"Hold still." I said calmly.

"Sweet breath of Arkay, thank you." Arvel breathed a sigh of relief.

I used a dagger to cut the threads, in no time the threads came loose and Arvel fell to the ground freed. "Thanks for the rescue…Sucker!" Arvel screamed before turning around down the passage to make a break for it.

I quickly stepped aside and bolt flew right passed me and nailed Arvel in the back, right at the base of his spine. He fell almost immediately.

"I guess that's why they call you the Swift." I clarified as the thief stopped breathing.

I walked forward to search his pockets, not finding a pouch of gold coins but a whole claw made of solid gold and journal. I flipped through the pages but it was very obscure.

"…When you hold the claw, the answers in the palm of my hand…?" I read the notes aloud and clearly confused till I did what the book said and I saw animal glyphs, just like in the other chamber. It was a puzzle and claw is the key.

Bagging the claw, we set off again just as the chanting started again. I turned to Moro who nodded in response; we weren't crazy; we were both hearing it.

"What you get from the thief?" Moro asked as we walked, I guess even lifeless stone gets bored of being a stiff.

"That claw they mentioned earlier and a journal, that I think says that this claw is a key of some sort to a puzzle…I think." I said with uncertainty, and I felt two red orbs boring into my skull.

"You think?" He asked with some form of amazement, shock and sarcasm. He chuckled out of the blue and I knew he doubted my logic.

"Fine, but if it is all for naught, I'm going to throw you off the side of a mountain." Moro challenged and something clicked inside me.

"You're on, but if I'm right you're going off the side of the mountain." I responded and shook hands on it.

We came to; by the smell of the place, a burial chamber. Bed-like tombs arranged like triple bunk beds, spread across the all the walls. Some had skeletons, but most had these skinny, sickly skinned bodies, some even wore armor. They were frighteningly well preserved.

That's when Moro decided to be funny and make like it's a scary campfire story, "You said that these ruins are at least 5000 years old, even in this cold they shouldn't be this well preserved unless they were frozen solid. Be on your guard, something's off." Moro whispered in such an ominous voice.

Yeah, right? I walk up to one of the tombs to prove a point. "Come on Moro, I think your just being paranoid now. These are Ancient Nord dead; the Nord's don't like magic so I highly doubt this place is cursed." I grabbed an arm of one corpse to illustrate my point, but when I let go…it…grabbed…Me!

"Oh, my Gods!" I screamed and more began to get up as I ripped my arm free from the corpses death grip.

"Dir Volaan." One of the corpses yelled at me.

I stood back as we were outnumbered, I turned to Moro who had an; I told you so, look on his face. Summoning my bound blades, we stood back to back, odds one to three.

"Three each." I said.

"Your mess." Moro replied.

_**X-Moro POV-X**_

Just my luck, I get stuck with a mage who clearly lacks sense for the obvious, so much for a well-read mage.

Now it's my turn to clean up his mess. I charged my magicka through my sword and it lit up with flames on the razor end of the blade. Crafting a weapon with your own hands magically makes the weapon more malleable to its owner.

Three of these undead creatures charged me, weapons drawn. Five millennia obviously dimmed their sense of battle: Never charge unless you know what you're aiming for. These dust brains don't fear fire but they soon shall.

With a quick spin, a firm grip on the blade and the right angle, not to mention the flame imbued blade, my blade cut through their weapons. Disarmed, the creatures looked at their broken arms then just charged bare handed.

They couldn't seem to make fists or this was how they fought bare handed, like a bear; nail and palms. I deflected the first one and countered with a slash to the chest and it was down, I grabbed the next one by the shoulder and drove my sword down the ribcage.

The final one seemed to have gained some sense and tried to run, too late. I buried the blade through the back and the walking corpse caught fire. It squirmed for a minute before it ceased movement and I shoved it off my blade with my foot.

I looked back to see if my companion was still alive and sadly, he was.

Whatever these creatures were, they clearly lacked the basic intelligence such is the barbaric Nord stereotype. Strun was sadly in no danger; he simply toyed with these fools with his superior swordplay. These things were running into the wall like frenzy bulls.

Enough was enough. I cleared my throat to get the Breton's attention as he danced with his opponents. He looked at me and sighed at the end of his little game.

"Come on ugly!" Strun provoked the undead men to follow him. He suddenly stopped with them trailing behind, he turned around in time to see them step on a pressure plate and get impaled when a spike gate came swinging from behind and slamming into them fast.

They were left stuck to the gate like flies on honeyed paper as the gate reset. One was still alive still grumbling at us. "Looks angry, I'd be too if I looked like that." I said standing next to Strun. I sheathed my blade and we carried on and encountered more of those undead men, lots of oil traps and spikes. Till we came to a door with these animal glyphs on like in that other chamber.

Though I looked all over the walls, no glyphs, I noticed the claw shaped keyhole and I realized I had lost the bet. I turned around to see him with a proud High Rock smirk of victory.

"Step aside and let the master work his magic." Strun said with inflated ego.

He aligned the circles to match the palm of the claw, Bear, Moth and Owl; respectively. He placed the claw into the slot, it fit like a glove and all the circles spun and the whole door moved followed by clunks, like the bolts of a safe releasing.

The whole door fell into the ground, revealing a lush underground wonder. Plants everywhere, a running stream and even a camp of bats flew past us when we walked through the path. The most notable thing however was the massive black wall like structure not supporting or covering anything. Just like that the chants returned louder.

With every step I took they became clearer.

We crossed a bridge that led us up the stairs and we came face to face with the wall. I could clearly see now that the wall was inscribed with strange looking runes or symbols. That I'd never seen before.

"Have you ever seen anything like these?" I asked the native among the two of us whilst referring to the symbols on the wall.

"No, never seen the like, but they are very bizarre. Don't they look strange but in a familiar way?" Strun asked with intrigue.

"Yes, they do look a little like…" I drew my hand down along a curve. "...claw marks big claws. Like something big that we saw today." I stated, not hiding my implication.

"You really think this has anything to do with the dragon?" Strun asked in attempted disbelief, like he was afraid of the truth.

"I'm not sure…" I said as I looked closer and noticed that the symbols weren't carved into the stone; the indentation seemed to be like they were stamped into the stone with no real force. It was most strange and fascinating.

Then without warning; the chanting returned stronger than before.

_**X-X-X**_

The two turned to the right side of the wall, the chanting seemed to emanate from a single spot.

They took a step closer and the voices became clearer than ever before, taking another step and it was as if they had stepped into the night. Their vision seemed to darken and only one thing held any light, a certain set of symbols shined with the brightness of a thousand stars.

They stood face to face with the symbols and the light seemed to fly from them into their eyes, like souls searching for their lost halves, the energy that illuminated the carving reached out.

As if finding the recipient of their calls, the voices jumped from the wall into the men's head and the chanting stopped then screamed only one verse.

'Fus!'

The ground beneath their very feet began to shake and then a popping noise caught the two's attention.

They whipped around to see a sarcophagus; they missed earlier, lid fly off and fall to the ground as an armored undead warrior climbed out.

Drawing a sword that shined blue with the wrath of winter frost, the glowing eyes looked them up and down.

"Qiilaan us dilon!" The creature growled at the two who drew their weapons in response to the obvious threat from the creature.

It was clearly different from any other of the creatures that they faced previously, this one was fully armored and the pointy horns on its helm reminded the two of their previous encounter with a threating creature who harvested death wherever it went.

The creature inhaled sharply and braced it body as if it were hold down a storm.

When its mouth open the storm was released.

_**Fo Krah DIIN!**_

In a hail of frost and hurricane like wind, Moro and Strun were thrown slightly back by the force of the blast of frost.

If they hadn't been braced, they would've been thrown full force.

"Impossible…" Moro muttered as he recognized that form of strength anywhere. It was the same power the dragon used to level Helgen. True fear began to seep into his being but he refused to succumb to fear.

Strun fared no better, to sound alone shook him to the core, and his bones yet ached from the last encounter with such power. Though when he saw Moro shake off the attack he refused to fall when his rivaling companion refused to fall. "Let's put this one back to bed; in pieces!"

Strun's confidence of defiance was the trigger and the charged.

Moro's blade ignited with flames again and met the creatures own, but unlike before the weapon didn't yield to the heat. The sword of frost didn't even take a scratch as the sword laced with flames fought in vain to break it.

Moro swung a few times more, most attacks were deflected but the last attack did some damage by breaking the creature's stance and sending it back a few steps. Moro leapt back to give Strun room to attack. "Now!" Moro screamed for his partner to attack.

Strun wasted no time and proceeded to unleash a sequence of fast attacks, that were quick and shallow but were numerous and damaging. All that could be seen was a tornado of violet glowing blades spinning and slashing. Strun finally stopped inhaling deeply as he used all his strength in that one attack.

An angry undead growl was heard as the creature stood up again with a dangerous look in its eyes. Thinking fast, Moro charged again to distract the creature for Strun to catch his breath for the next attack. Not the best strategy, but it was the most basic that was understood between the two as they had little time to plan for the Oblivion sent doom bringer.

Moro jumped forward ready to bring down a heavy midair descending slash, but those plans were cut short before the blade even reached its target.

_**Fus Roh DAH!**_

A midair attack turned around in a mere moment as Moro was sent back into the wall. He hit with the strength of a mammoth kick, Moro grunted before falling down and into the abyss of darkness which was unconsciousness. Moro now lay, perched against the wall he had just struck and he was out cold.

"Shit…" Strun cursed at the display as his partner was knocked out cold by an invisible force of strength.

The creature turned its attention to Strun as the only other threat was lying out cold.

Strun moved down the steps to put some distance between him and the monster, also to draw the said monster away from his unconscious companion as he lay vulnerable.

Fasted than expected, the creature was upon him again. Deflecting blows for his life truly depended on it.

With its free hand, the creature punched Strun in the chest, sending him back and loosing grasp of his swords as they faded into nothing.

Strun found himself against a rock and very dangerous situation as the creature staggered quickly toward him.

On impulse, Strun reached both hands forward and concentrated heavily into his GIZMO and a very specific spell.

When the blade came down to meet its victim, it was halted by an invisible force that soon became tangible for the moment of impact. The creature seemed surprised but not stunned for a moment before it began attacking continuously, not halting for a breath.

Strun grinded his teeth under the pressure, not sure how long he could hold up the spell.

While the onslaught continued on Strun's shield, Moro lay still against the wall. The words still echoing in Moro's head, Moro felt something building inside.

As he lay there, his mind was still aware of what happened; trying to comprehend what just occurred. Then the echo of the word lit up in his mind, and the chanting began yet again, gaining strength as his mind began to piece together the recent attack and the sound that was emanating from the word now engraved in his mind.

Strun's shields begun to fail…

The word was always the loudest, and it grew ever louder, beginning to shake Moro from his slumber and the word grew even stronger as an unknown strength built. This sensation was so strange, so different and terrifying yet so familiar and natural, like it had been at the tips of his fingers the entire time.

…the shield began to crack…

Then it snapped.

[*Word of Power Soundtrack]

Moro's eyes shot open, glowing with the light of the word that carved its way into his mind and through his throat.

In one fluent motion, Moro rose to his feet with his sword in hand; eyes locked onto his target and he drew the sword back over his head and took a deep breath.

…the beast chipped away the last of the ward…

Moro swung and released his blade and his voice.

_**FUS!**_

Imbued with the power of the word, the blade flew and impaled the beast threw the back, the tip just stopping at Strun's face.

The beast was impaled and immobile, it merely grumbled before the glow in its eye fade and it fell.

Strun just looked in astonishment at the fallen undead before him, and then up at his savior.

Moro stood at the wall still but he had a clear view of result, then as quickly as the power came, Moro's strength faded and he fell to his knees.

He wasn't panting but he was clearly exhausted, it only then hit Moro that he just spoke and unleashed a similar power to the one that flattened him against the wall.

"One…issue…at a time…" The Dunmer said when he saw that Strun was still sitting in place.

"Get up here and help!" The temperamental Dunmer screamed the flabbergasted mage looked for a second before getting to his feet.

Strun released Moro's sword from the corpse, but when he ripped it out a stone fell from the undead's breastplate. The stone was five sided with some form of star markings, he quickly realized it was a map, growing up in Skyrim taught him to know the land.

Strun bagged the stone and the undead's sword, could be worth something, his bag seemed to have no bottom. He looked to see Moro still waiting, leaning against the wall, climbing the steps he took one arm over his shoulder and helped him up.

Looking around Strun spotted a path that lead up, and there he spotted a switch.

"I feel a draft, coming from the ledge." Moro said, confirming Strun's guess and causing the Breton to grin.

They began their drag like walk to the exit. "Here I thought I'd be dragging you out of here." Moro said with annoyance, that's when it clicked in Strun's head.

"Now I remember, these Nordic ruins are infested with the 'barely living dead', locals call them draugr." Strun said with amazement.

Moro simply grunted and head budded Strun.

"You need to get your priorities straight." Moro said with anger.

"It's not my fault I forgot!" Strun defended.

The two argued their way out the ruins, after unlocking the legendary power they now possessed.

_**ZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZSZS**_

_Authors Notes:_

_I've been itching to write this for so long, when I was writing I was at critical part, when ESKOM! Power cut, didn't save! But luckily Windows has contingencies for that and saved my work. I almost lost three pages. But now they have unlocked their powers, it will be explained later so just roll with it, for it gets better. __The moment you see [*] you should play the soundtrack; check it up on YouTube it inspired that moment. Please Review to inspire faster updates._

_Fare Thee Well_


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